Teamwor

====================

First in the Dick and Jane occasional collection. The stories are fiction but I hope reflect some universal truth. Best read in sequence. All characters over 18.

====================

John, Jane and someone—someone with a mind of his own, a head on his shoulders, an eye on the prize, and a single minded purpose—all in all a good team member.

====================

"Are you ready, Jane? Done your teeth? In bed?", John calls out above me. I feel the vibration of his deep voice, transmitted through his body bulk.

We listen for the answer. He moves, shifting me to the side. I'm waking.

"Yes, Daddy. I'm ready."

John turns in his seat. Tucked comfortably against him, I turn with him. He lays down the magazine, careful to preserve his place. Adjusts his dressing gown. Gives me a pat of endearing encouragement as we stand. We're a team, John and me. For decades now. We know how each other thinks.

"Coming. Shall I bring you some water? You always get thirsty."

His deep voice vibrates again. Pressed as I am against his muscular solidness, I feel the tremors like a firm massage.

"Yes, please."

I'm still relaxed but starting to perk up. I go with John as he gets a glass and fills it, then affectionately drapes his other hand around my shoulder and gives me a squeeze.

"Come on boy," he says quietly, "up you come." I feel myself swell with pride. Teamwork.

As we enter her bedroom we are both entranced. We never get tired of this time, her bedtime, our special time. There's a firmness in our step, erectness in our posture. Despite his 250 pounds John's stands tall and moves with an easy stride to Jane's bedside. He puts the glass on her bedside table—next to our framed portrait from the Daddy-Daughter Dance—ready for later. He sits on her bed and comfortably adjusts his dressing gown. I've come in too, relaxed and casual but alert, swinging in easy synchronicity with his step. Teamwork.

John sits beside Jane, his hand on her leg below the sheet ruffled around her waist, He smiles at her, a paternal smile, a proud smile, she is such a good girl. I watch her also my with one eye, peering through the front gap. She is an alluring lass, and smells just lovely. I've gotten to know her quite well and really like her. John and I both appreciate her scent, which has long been particularly pungent when we come to say goodnight. In fact it is exciting me now, and, upright, I emerge from my nest to stare.

"Hello Daddy," she purrs, stretched on the bed beside us, her toes

en pointe

towards the foot rail, her arms reaching up and back, fingertips to the head rail. She closes her eyes and lightly moistens her lips with the tip of her tongue, but not before I see her glance at me. She lets out a deep sigh. John gives me a squeeze and I stare at Jane—her parted lips, her bare arms with their wisps of armpit hair, her pert acorn breasts with two pretty nipples.

I'm scenting her aroma. It is getting stronger now, and I'm sure she is scenting mine. I'm sure we already have each other weeping in anticipation, me from my eye, she from her tight little cunny. Every night is like our first time, me and her.

John stands, removes his dressing gown, and I spring out, already at attention. Naked, he resumes his seat a little further up the bed, his hand a little further up her thigh. He leans forward and I find myself squeezed between his belly and along her slender hip bone. Oh, God, John, whatever you do don't stop. He is kissing those waiting acorns, fondling and suckling each in turn. Then he tugs out the sheet from between them and slides his muscled hairy chest along her torso and she sinks beneath his weight into the mattress.

She is home again and her arms go round his neck. Pinned, she parts her lips and accepts his entering tongue, come to explore this familiar body that is his.

She yielded years ago, initially under fear, cajolery and insistent persuasion, but long now with a soft yielding whenever he comes to stake his sire claim.

While John above me takes his pleasure, I am trapped below against her slight and slender hip—long may it remain so, with its barely widened curves and bony innocence ever a delight for John and me. The old letch, I know how he loves to encase those hips in two large firm authoritative hands whenever we stake our claim. Even now his hips begin to undulate and hump and she—bless her heart and other girly parts—responds likewise to his demanding invitation.

I am practiced in my task and full letch is upon me. John has settled his full weight between her legs, which have splayed and parted to cradle him. She will love this man forever, her first, and only, and always, sire. She waits with pelvic arch upturned, her wispy mound against his working belly muscles, her engorged inner lips rippled, slick and peeking through the slim slot between her swollen outer lips.

Her scent has overpowered me and I am as hard and proud and empowered as I have ever been. Her rose petal

labia minora

part repeatedly, slicking her cream delicately around my helmet and eye. I don't need John's help to aim me. I am up to the task. Built for it. I am lined up and itching to enter the fray right in front of my nose.

With one determined and mastering thrust from John I insert myself into Jane's lovely cunny. Her legs part wider. She moans, I shoulder my way in. She is as tight as when we first broached her, and still squeezes my shaft beautifully. I think, "Good girl!", and I hear John speak those same words into her parted mouth above. Teamwork.

In a single fluid movement I sink all the way up inside her. At the end I find her cervix waiting, and above that I picture her belly—with its sweet innie belly-button distended around my thick shaft—sliding under her sire's belly.

I settle to my first task of thrusting rhythmically, Almost all the way out, then in. Each thrust brings a moan as she rises on the tide towards her nightly gift. Each withdrawal brings a mounting grasp from her young but experienced cunt muscles. Sweet pussy lips caress me. Then again I invade and part her tight breeding channel. Each parting raises her towards her orgasm, and with each upward step she clamps down harder on me. She is about to be mine.

Finally she is over the top and rhythmically clamping me. I can barely move and allow her to hold my hard bulk within her belly, taking me, her sire's presence, as her own. From inside her I sense her flailing limbs, curling toes, whole body rictus, eyes rolled back, lost self, surrender

She cries out, she wails, she feels her scream echo round the universe, but it is muffled by John's large hand clamped firmly across her mouth. He is long experienced with her mind and body. It's in no one's interests to disturb others in the house. They may suspect but need not know. Sufficient that all in the family benefit from Jane's sweet absorption, her temperament softened and aglow under John's mastering.

Jane recovers from her orgasmic spell and regains control of her physical body—but as has happened over all these years, with every orgasm she sinks deeper ever deeper in her sire's thrall. And so it is tonight. And so it will be every time John and I come to stake our claim.

As Jane relaxes John and I set to finish staking tonight's claim. Our thrusts resume and soon John has her narrow bony hips grasped with both big hands, her acorns rubbing delightfully beneath his chest. He never gets tired of that. He would love to have a mouthful of acorn and nipple as he takes her, but she is too slight in stature and he can't reach down. Perhaps it's about time to have her friend Carrie over for a sleepover, as an extra set of acorns and other delights could then be in easy reach.

Within a few minutesI I am ascending my own escalator, and nothing can stop me. John has Jane pinned down and is in full breeding rut. Perhaps one day I'll persuade him that we should stake that final claim, the claim that cannot be undone, the ultimate siring that supersedes all, that will preempt all others' breeding claims. It might be sooner than he might expect as a rational man. In these moments he becomes totally irrational.

To return to the matter at hand, I am at this moment intent on achieving that particular purpose for which I exist, to deposit two lovely balls-full of salty semen just below this cervix in front of me. Our balls are already high and tight against my under shaft, shuttling in and out as my thrusts get shorter, sharper.

Soon my shaft and glans expand, push outward with irresistible force against Jane's squeezing cunny walls. She feels me expand inside her—filling her yet more—and the last thrust—deep but not too deep—as I position myself at the right distance from her waiting cervix.

Now both Jane and I hold still. I know my job, and Jane and her cunny both know it too. I must deposit my gift and she must receive it just below her cervix cone. Later as she sleeps it will dip down and soak in the warm semen pool.

Jane has stilled within John's arms. Her mind and body no longer spur John on—he is almost an afterthought—his job is done—the rest is up to me and my impending gift.

She feels me pulse within her cunny as the spurts come racing up and fly out of my one staring eye to pool below her cervix. As this precise moment I send a chemical question and command to John's brain above as he stares intently down into Jane's eyes and she holds his gaze. He finds himself thinking—am I breeding you?—too soon?—but I want to breed you!

As the spurts continue, then diminish, I feel John's resolve weakening. He wants to make his final claim, his rightful claim, his breeding claim, his siring claim, of Jane. I know it. Jane knows it. Soon John will know it.

John keeps me inside Jane for a good fifteen minutes as I soften and bask in the fresh seed pool I have placed there. He thinks he is just feeling exhausted and affectionate towards Jane. But whatever. He can think that if he wants. Jane and I know better. We know he is really still in rutting fever and his body knows he must keep her plugged awhile for the best chance that she will "catch".

Jane and I are in cahoots on this subject, and we have been working together to bring out John's true self. It is not tonight and may not be tomorrow, but we will work on him and between us we will draw him inexorably to his breeding purpose. Teamwork.

John rises and offers Jane her water. She drinks thirstily. He bends, reaches down with one hand to feel his seed leaking through her swollen lips, and kisses her on her forehead.

"Good night, my Jewell." He pulls the sheet up over her.

"Good night, daddy."

He puts on his dressing gown but doesn't tie it. It drapes open. I'm still full and thick and long, but exhausted and looking at the floor. But the smell of sex fills the room—it's probably already wafted down the corridor to enliven other occupants' dreams—and I manage to raise my head one more time.

Jane looks at me. I look at her. I think she winks, but so John cannot see.

We understand each other. We're rooting together.

Teamwork.